I'm dreaming that I am awake.
I dream that I sit up from bed, the white sheets pooling around me like a cloud. Stare across the room. I see the familiar walls, a wooden flooring, a large open window.
This is my old room, where I spent most of my days, laughing and crying.
The room etched into the corners of my heart, where time stretched and folded around me in the quiet rhythm of growing up. I spent countless hours here, dreaming, breaking, mending, becoming. The air holds echoes of those moments, suspended like dust in the light.
I dream that I get out of bed, walk towards the window. Open the window wider, smell the breeze of fresh autumn air. It wraps around me like an old friend, carrying with it the scent of damp earth, of woodsmoke and fallen leaves, of something wild and fleeting.
Outside, the world is beginning to turn. I see the trees in the distance dressed in their autumn robes—greens fading into gold, yellows deepening into amber, oranges blazing into red.
"The leaves are the same color as your hair."
The voice slices through the stillness, and rashly I turn. He's standing by the door, cloaked in white and purple, his long hair resting on one shoulder. His eyes, always watching, clothed with a strange softness.
"They're beautiful," he says, turning his head to one side, "aren't they?"
Even in my dreams, he haunts me. Even as I close my eyes, he is there.
"Why won't you leave me alone?"
Here in my dreams, I can speak freely. Here in my dreams, I am free.
"Why?" He begins to advance in my direction. "Why do you think?"
"Leave," I say, desperate now. "Leave me alone, please. Please go away."
"Go away?" He's now standing in front of me, in his full height, and I feel like a small, terrified prey once again. "Why would you push me away, though?"
The whole scene changes, and the air goes in circle and I shut my eyes tight lest they hurt.
When the next scene unfolds, I see myself naked, and he's hovering above me, naked as well, and we're locked together, joined in the language of lovemaking.
And I begin to cry, because it reminds me of being dirty. Of how dirty I am, how sinful, and how unclean and impure and soiled.
As he locks his gaze with mine, he whispers, "You're forever trapped with the monster that you think I am."
My mind then goes black, in haze of emptiness and void. Here in my dreams, I should be free: free to leave this scene anytime.
I'm tired of running away, time and time again.
With eyes blank with tears, I push my body upwards and I devour his mouth, fierce, consuming. And my hands travel across his body, igniting shivers where once there was fear. And I take control, and the next moment, I am the one hovering above him.
A knife then appears in my hand. A sharp steel, masterfully carved in fire and blood. Forged in fire and memory, its edge gleams like justice.
Before he notices the sudden change in my demeanor, I raise the blade in my right hand, and pierce his skin, just above his heart. His eyes gleam aflame, filled with fury and confusion, but I push harder, and the knife sinks fully.
The scene changes and I am now back in my bed, except that this room is no longer my old room.
And I begin to cry, because I know then that I am now really awake, facing reality, over and over again.
...
Right after I compose myself, the door opens.
I gather my thought, steady the breath that trembles within me.
They enter, seven court ladies, stepping into the room with quiet grace. Their eyes, polite but uncertain, fall to the floor the moment they meet mine, their heads bowed in unspoken reverence.
Yet they are new faces, unfamiliar. Seven young women, delicate as blossoms yet sharp as thorns, their faces unmarked by time or memory. Faces I've never seen before. Faces that belong to strangers in a world I thought I knew.
I should feel suspicion, a flicker of doubt, for my own safety. Demand their purpose. Yet instead I find a strange stillness within me. Because I recall him—Hyuuri. Somewhere out there in the shadows. His presence lingers, an unseen specter. And in this moment, I know I am far from danger. At least a hundred feet from the nearest threat, or so I tell myself.
Or so it depends on who you consider a threat.
By midday, Suwon arrives to have lunch with me. I eat slowly, mind my own. Even if I finish first, he won't let me leave the table early anyway. So I take my time, so that later I won't be staring at my empty plate again.
"Your eyes are a bit swollen," he says.
I pretend not to hear him, my gaze drifting towards the walls where the new court ladies stand, poised and still. They are shadows in the corner, waiting.
"What do you think of them?" he says, then, looking at the same direction. "Your new personal maids?"
I don't speak.
"I figured you'd be more comfortable around ladies who are about the same age as you."
"...I don't need them," is all I say.
He merely chuckles. "I plan on relieving Hyuuri as your bodyguard, in place of these seven young ladies. What do you say?"
The question lingers in the air. Does it mean he is loosening his grip on me now, or is he simply replacing one set of chains with another? I don't understand him. These maids—mere maids—what could they possibly do to shield me? In the face of danger, can they even defend me? If insurgents come, will these delicate figures be able to stand against them?
Yet I say, "As long as I am free to go about the whole castle, I don't mind."
He smiles. "I hope you get well with them. They're closer to your age. They'd make good friends to you."
I take a long glance at them.
They are younger than the ones before. More graceful, more pleasing to the eye, as if they were crafted from the softest clay, untouched by the harshness of the world. They smile, as if to assure me of their kindness. But kindness is a mask, and in a place like this, a mask is a dangerous thing.
I cannot trust in their softness.
I wonder, fleetingly, what became of the previous maids—the ones who served me while I was locked away. Were they reassigned, sent to some quiet corner of the castle to fade into the shadows? Or were they silenced, their whispers stolen away like the breath from a dying flame?
I deviate my mind; I don't want to think about it.
I'm relieved that Hyuuri will no longer trail behind me like a shadow. This new arrangement, though strange, feels like a breath of fresh air. The only ones who will follow me now are these seven—my personal maids.
Yet seven is too many. Seven shadows that will never leave, seven sets of eyes that will forever watch my every move. Their presence will be a constant weight, a soft, unyielding pressure. Seven, always watching. Always close.
When my father was alive, I had no personal maids. The maids that took care of me - I wouldn't call them my personal maids. They serve the royal family and since I'm their only princess, I'm the only one they get to serve.
The head maid would see to it all. I don't even have to give orders anymore. It's like a routine. The head maid gives them orders, and they follow like dolls, and I too, follow the head maid.
The only difference is that before, my maids do not follow my every move at all. Anyway, it wasn't necessary. Because I had my bodyguard.
Hak. I had Hak by my side.
I wonder how he's doing. His birthday was last month. I wonder if he celebrated.
Will I ever see him again?
"Yona."
Suwon is now standing beside me. "You're spacing out again. Let's go." He takes my hand.
"Where are we going?"
"You're going to the library again, right? I'm going too. Let's go together."
I planned on staying at the villa today. Nevertheless, I get up from the table and follow his lead. Like a loyal dog, caught on a leash.
The wind is colder each passing day.
It's now early fall.
Five months have passed since that wretched night. And all these days, I've never forgotten. Every night, I am reminded, painfully.
A wound that would never heal.
My gaze lingers on the roses to my left. When were they planted here, I wonder? I cannot seem to recall. So full of life, and so full of colors. But soon they'll wither.
Because winter is arriving soon.
I hope it does not snow much. Or maybe it should. Maybe it should snow so hard the whole country freezes, and I too, freezes.
A sharp wind stirs, cutting through the air. It touches my bare face, and all exposed skin. Sharp and cold. I shiver. Suwon pulls me closer, his arm over my shoulder.
"They should have given you thicker robes," he says. "It seems that your maids hadn't adjusted to their tasks yet."
His hand is a source of warmth, yet in them I could feel my father's blood, seeking justice. And the blood of that young court lady who'd tried to save me before. And along the blood of the many others who had had to die, in order for him to be where he is now.
In his touch, I feel the weight of it all.
...
We arrive at the library, its silence enveloping us like a heavy curtain. Suwon takes his place at the table, where a map of Kouka and its neighboring lands stretches across the surface, vast and unyielding.
My home country.
Kouka is a big empire. Though I heard that it used to be larger before my father ascended on the throne. Or so the rumors say.
I go to one of the shelves, not far from him, gaze lost in the rows of books. My thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. Last time I wandered here, I found a book about the history of Kouka. It contained about what my father used to tell me. About King Hiryuu, our first king; he had crimson hair too, it was said. And the dragons who helped him.
Are they even real?
"What do you think, Yona?" Suwon's voice pierces the stillness, unexpected, pulling me from my reverie. "About Kouka?"
I stare at him, the question settling around me like fog. His words do not make sense—not yet, anyway. They are too sudden.
"Kouka is a big empire. But do you think it's strong enough? Do you think, there's a chance that Kouka might fall one day? Under the hands of another king?" He points at the big mass of land, just above Kouka. "This one here, it's bigger, and so much capable." Then he points to another country, the one below Kouka. "Or maybe this one. Looks small, but who knows, they say you must never underestimate your enemies."
Could he be testing me?
"I don't know," I say. "I'm just a woman. I don't even have a voice in the court."
"You think you're powerless?" he says, a wisp of surprise in his voice. "But you have the power to influence the king's decisions."
"No, i don't," I mutter to myself. I turn to another shelf, the one at the farthest corner of the room.
"I'll be staying here until night," he says, his words like a strange invitation. "You can still sleep here. I won't make any noise."
"I should go somewhere else," I say, then. "I won't be able to fall asleep here anyway, not when there's people."
He looks at me, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Is that so? Alright, I guess I'll see you tonight."
I step outside, my new maids trailing behind me. They move with a grace that almost matches the wind, their steps swift and silent. I pause for a moment, staring out into the distance. The library is full.
I don't know where else to go.
Perhaps I should return to the villa. Sleep there, let the walls cradle me in their familiarity. Or maybe—maybe I should go to my old chamber. It's been months since I've set foot there. I haven't been there since that night.
As I walk away from the library, I happen to turn around, and just barely, I see Keishuk go inside, his dark silhouette vanishing inside.
I walk further.
My old chamber is the same as I recall. Frozen in time. Untouched. They kept it clean, but they left most of the items from where I'd left them. Like this hair comb I use to tame my hair with. It sits here, waiting for me.
I sit in front of the mirror. I stare at myself again. Princess Yona, daughter of the late Emperor Il. I am only sixteen years old, yet the weight of the world has been too much. I have purple eyes, which I got from my mother. But my crimson hair, I don't know where they came from. A bit unruly; I don't like it.
"But I like you hair, Yona. They're beautiful, just like the dawn."
Are they?
I open one of the drawers, search for its contents. I find old hair ornaments, combs, but most importantly, it's still there; I pull out the pair of scissors.
"I would like to cut my hair," I say out loud, holding out the scissors to my maids. "One of you, cut my hair."
Silence fills the room like an unspoken command. None of them move. They stand there, heads bowed, eyes fixed on the ground. My hand trembles slightly, suspended in the air, waiting.
They are ignoring me.
"Don't ignore me, "I warn, my voice sharper than I intend. If I were the old me, I would have screamed by now. "It's only the first day of your jobs, and you're already being rebellious."
"Your Highness," the maid in the middle says quickly, "please let us ask permission from His Majesty first, before doing so."
"Is he the one getting his hair cut?" I ask, my voice thick with sarcasm. "Alright then. I'll just do it myself. None of you can leave until I'm done."
They have no choice but to watch still. They're just spies, aren't they? Just like the previous ones. They follow him and him only. Pretend to serve me, only to report my every move to him.
I thought they were much better.
But they're no different.
As my crimson strands fall to the floor, one maid steps forward. "Your Highness," she says, "allow me to finish it."
She takes the scissor from my hand, not gently, then begins on her work, swift and decisive. I want to scold her for her insolence, but I hold my tongue. At least she's helping me, unlike the others. She would probably be punished later, though, for helping me cut my hair.
This girl has brown hair. When she raised her eyes to look at my reflection, I saw brown eyes as well.
Somehow, they remind me of a certain someone.
"Where did you come from?" I ask.
"I come from the Earth Tribe, Your Highness."
"How old are you?" I ask again.
"I just turned sixteen last month."
She's the same age as me. Though I look much older than her, now. I look way mature. A woman. A woman with a bleeding hair.
"You remind me of a certain someone," I say absentmindedly.
She pauses, but says nothing. Then she resumes her work. Nothing follows anymore. I don't dare ask another question. I wanted to ask her name, but I'm a coward. What remains is the snipping of the blades, and our silent breathing.
After a while, she finishes. The resulting length is not as short as I'd wanted it to be. It falls mere inches past my shoulder. Even so, it's much better than having it fall to my waist altogether.
"You did a good job," I say.
After that I lie down on my old bed, while they go outside to let me sleep. Somehow, this bed is more comfortable. I stare at the familiar walls, and hug the white sheets closer to my body, as if to protect myself from the chaos of the outside world.
I hope he doesn't come this time, in my dreams.
I'm dreaming that I am awake.
I dream that I open my eyes, to see a pair of sea-green eyes, gazing softly at me. He is smiling. His face is less sharp this time, his features softer, younger.
He is holding my hand.
"It's alright, Yona," he whispers. "I'll hold your hands until you fall asleep, okay? And even if you cry in your dreams, I'll wipe them all away."
I dream that my tears fill my vision, and that as I choke on my sobs, I say, "I miss you, Suwon."